


Hey there, take a step forward

by orphan_account



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Crossover, Harry keeps trying to run away from all his problems and it doesnt work, M/M, Self-Discovery, it's not really necessary to have watched Pacific Rim before reading this fic, peter is a fucking idiot sometimes, really hipster Harry, sassy gwen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is essentially forced to eat his own shit at Omaha for years, before Norman Osborn calls him back. Pacific Rim!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey there, take a step forward

**Author's Note:**

> I CANT GET YOU OUTTA MY MINDDDDDD.  
> -me about this plot idea since May 2nd.

 

_The Jaeger Program was a project that focused on the development of mass mobilized weapons to fight the emerging Kaijus, gigantic sea creatures that emerged from the Mariana Trench. Originally funded by the United Nations and the Pan Pacific Defense Corps in September of 2014, corporate mogul Norman Osborn of Oscorp invested $56 million dollars in developing Mark-3 Jaegers after the emergence of larger and more evolved Kaijus. Osborn subsequently gained a monopoly over half the program and funded the lead scientific research team that continues to expand our understanding of the Kaiju to this day._

_-National Archives, 2018_

 

After Oscorp funds half the Jaeger program through private donations, the company becomes one of the most nationally celebrated corporations in the world, and Norman Osborn evolves into an icon, the scientist who helped fund the team that formulated split-brain piloting.

It’s also when he sends Harry off to Nebraska, where Harry is forced to live in Omaha, dropped and abandoned at the most expensive private school there. Harry hadn’t been happy about it, ignoring his father for weeks and hissing in short temper tantrums that disappeared as quickly as they came. What he hadn't counted on was his father returning the favor, not even glancing at him during Harry's departure. He ignored Harry for all his birthdays, all his academic awards. All his achievements were brushed aside and disregarded as trivialities not worth Norman's time. It stung deeply, and Harry made a show of trying to hide the fact that he cared.  

Harry was intelligent enough to get by with near perfect grades without putting in an extraneous amount of effort, and he spent almost all of his time thinking about how he was a disappointment to his father. He wasn't blind enough to notice that Nebraska was smack dab in the middle of the United States, far away from any coastline in the country. His father was—protecting him, Harry thinks, but he never visited, never called, never emailed, never even contacted him second-hand through any of the various man-servants waiting around to shine Harry’s shoes, hoping for a raise. 

So Harry began to hate his father. He had never attempted to reconcile his original feelings of adoration and bitter abandonment with the blossoming hatred, and as a result, duly ignored anything to do with Norman Osborn whatsoever. And, of course, the fact that he read every article to do with developing technology in Oscorp, and the fact that Harry would stop changing channels whenever the news was reporting on his father, meant nothing.

It was denial to the extreme. 

Sometimes, the paparazzi would follow him around, and Harry would purposefully kiss a girl here, let himself be sighted at a night club there, yet none were scandalous enough to warrant a visit from his father. Harry wasn't even sure his father saw, and if he did, he certainly didn't care enough to intervene.

His father was an almighty jackass, he decided.

Norman Osborn was in his own spectacular world, a world conveniently without his only son, and Harry was alone. He constructed a posse at school, created friendships that were so false and superficial that sometimes Harry still felt disgusted with himself. No one was able to penetrate into his thoughts of self-loathing and doubt concerning his family, and the levels of Harry's outward inherent arrogance in his wealth almost multiplied with every birthday that his father decided to pretend he didn't exist. He slept with what felt like a thousand girls, and he experimented with boys, did drugs, smoked. It all meant nothing to him.

And so, Harry continued to wither away in stagnancy, smiling humorlessly at social events and resolutely ignoring the slight, ominous twitching that had begun in his right hand.

*

Harry runs away.

It was honestly _quite_ poorly executed and probably fairly pathetic to the average observing bystander, but no one is observing him for once (and he's certainly not average). Harry was packing his bags and freezing his bank account (after withdrawing a significant amount) and getting the hell away from Nebraska. Was his father insane, thinking that Harry would somehow actually enjoy living in the middle of nowhere? Omaha was a city, but it was not his _home_ , and Harry was sick of his father’s looming presence following him around like a depressing rain cloud, proverbially raining on his very sad, daily parade. His extensive escape plan fell admittedly short after freezing the bank account, but he was ready for a good wandering. 

He drives up West, into Wyoming, and the first place he visits is Yellowstone.

Harry had never had the luxury of visiting any national parks as a child, and it was part retaliation that he ended up at the nationally renowned park.

He stared in wonder in the shifting colors of the hot spring. The smell of sulfur perforated his sense of smell, and he inhaled deeply, exhaled. Harry tugged at his cheap baseball cap, brushing his bangs to the side and pulling out his phone (it was a cheaper version, he had left his old mobile device behind and deactivated it) and took a look at himself in the reflective surface. There were little tourists, probably because of the recent Kaiju attacks, and the few that remained paid him little attention, too consumed by their own matters. The older Harry became, the more he realized how selfish humans innately were, including himself. 

Harry looked—awful, really.

The circles under his eyes made it look like he had been smoking cocaine for days (and Harry honestly _hadn't_ , he had left all the substances behind). His hair was unkempt and messy, and perhaps the only redeeming factor was that the surreal blue in his eyes shone very brightly. Harry’s lips turned downwards as he sighed. He despised being out of his Armani suits, and he couldn't dress like he usually did or else he’d draw attention to himself. He had donned a simplistic pair of converses, a plaid shirt and black skinny jeans, and a nice thick overcoat that hid most of his slender body. It was enough to make him feel normal. He wasn't sure he enjoyed the feeling.

It was when Harry continued to move his phone around, that he noticed something behind him.

There was someone there, speaking into a too-high-tech phone, looking around—and Harry swallowed stiffly.

The man was definitely someone from Oscorp, and Harry couldn't help the little tendril of sick satisfaction curling up in his stomach, that his father _did_ care, had sent men looking for him.

Until the man pulled out a gun.

Harry’s eyes widened, hand twitching imperceptibly, and he was striding away quickly, down towards the parking lot and away from the Guard, except there were probably more guards there, and really, just fuck. Had his father sent them? His father couldn't possibly be so dismissive of Harry's presence that he would be willing to—kill his own son? It occurred to Harry that the fact that he questioned it at all was indicative of something. An irreparable part of their relationship, forever squandered by years of distance. 

Harry kept his head down, walking forward briskly to his car when he saw what appeared to be an armada surrounding his car, an array of black cars with men in equally black suits _probably_ holding guns just like that other guy, so Harry turned around, ready to run into the damn forest if need be, when he bumped into someone.

That someone steadied his arms, gripped his shoulders and said, “Hey, sorry about that.”

Harry did not even look up, prepared ready to sprint, before he realized that the stranger wasn't planning on letting go, his hold a little too tight. Harry looked up.

“Harry Osborn,” Peter Parker smiled, and Harry dimly recalled that his eyes used to crinkle up the exact same way that they used to, “Care to tell me why Oscorp security guards are after you in Yellowstone?”

 

*

Peter hadn’t changed at all, Harry concluded. He was still stupidly kind and friendly, with a strong sense of moral justice, and even his perky nose was exactly the same. He had the same weird adorable doe eyes and Harry hated it. What kind of guy went through puberty and ended up on the other side as a  _nice_ guy?

“You ran away.” Peter sounded too amused. “God, your dad is a jerk.”

“No kidding." Harry snorted. "I’m done with him, and Oscorp. I needed some time alone, and here I am, with people trying to kidnap me.”

“It must be your incredible attractiveness.” Peter smiled, eyes crinkling. Harry felt like a few dozen rocks had been forced down his throat, all of a sudden. 

“Very funny.” Harry hesitated. “Look, I really appreciate you helping me, but...”

Peter visibly tried and failed to hide his obvious disappointment. They were sitting in his car, the tinted windows doing a good job of hiding them from any outsiders.

“Right, man. I haven’t seen you in a really long time, it was great to see you.” Peter said awkwardly, and Harry clenched his teeth. He sighed, and decided to just give up his pretenses.

“I’m sorry. I’m sick of my father, and the Jaeger’s and the Kaiju's, and everything. I wish I could stay and talk to you longer, but I don’t want to—screw you over, and get you involved with something that could turn out badly.”

Peter suddenly looked very nervous. “The Jaegers and the Kaiju’s, huh? Believe me, you’re not a burden. You’re my friend, one of my best pals, and it’s really not like I've made a lot of new buddies, to tell you the truth.”

Harry barked out a laugh.

“The Jaegers are destined for failure. Anyone with a brain can tell that the formulaic equation between each appearance is growing shorter, and the Kaiju are evolving faster than we can build more advanced Jaeger's.”

“I suppose so. I mean, I guess.” Peter frowned. “They give people hope. The wall isn't going to work, the Jaeger’s are all we've got.”

“All we've got isn't enough.” Harry leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Peter stared at the hollows of his eyes, his eyelashes, for a second too long, before looking away, coloring.

“Well, you've got me. I’m here for you.”

Harry said quietly, “I don’t have friends. I had one.”

Peter doesn't reply for a moment, probably mulling it over.

“It must have been fate, or whatever, for us to meet here after eight years. I don’t know. But give it a chance, I mean—you were always there for me. When my parents. You know.” Peter let out a shaky breath. “Shit, what am I even saying. I’m sorry.”

And Harry felt his resolve weaken, felt himself return the stare for a second too long, looking at Peter’s long neck, the soft, tiny hairs on his cheek, his jawline. Peter was a friend, and Harry hadn't had a friend in, well, eight years. He decides.

“Peter Parker,” He sighed out, “Get me caught up on these past few years, then.”

And Peter looked so ridiculously happy that Harry’s mouth closed up. He tried to swallow, fails.

“Right, well, first I have to introduce you to my friend, she’s at the hotel, and then we can catch a plane back to New York, don’t worry, it’s private, and you can find your dad and ask him yourself why he has buff dudes chasing after you.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Harry said, and for the first time in a long time—it really does sound like a plan.  

*

It annoys Harry that after all this time, Peter looks like he’s in a near-perfect athletic state, while Harry looks like he crawled out of a dumpster after doing copious amounts of drugs. It’s miffing, really.

“—its Gwen’s fault, she convinced the higher ups to gives us a vacation, because that’s _clearly_ what we need while the rest of the world is getting terrorized by giant sea monsters.” Peter said, shooting an accusatory glare at the driver.

Harry sat in the backseat awkwardly, feet apart and elbows on his knees, leaning forward and watching the two interact. They were on the road to New York, and it had been hours already. They still had days before they could reach the East Coast, and it was supposedly a "fun" road trip, but Harry felt like an outsider more than ever.

“Your arm was broken. It’s not like you would have been able to do anything.” She scowled, and abruptly made a sharp turn, making all of them shift to the left. Her hands were tight on the steering wheel. “Besides, if I hadn't done it, would we have been able to save your poor friend over here? No. So shut it.”

“But—”

“Shut it, Parker.” She said.

Harry felt the ridiculousness of the situation get to him. He still didn't know who those guys in the suits were, only to be saved by, who? His childhood friend and his girlfriend? He barely remembered who Peter Parker was, the tall boy who had worn braces, loved French Vanilla ice cream, and had enjoyed teasing Harry’s affluence at every corner.

“Gwen,” Harry turned the name and wrapped his mouth around it, until he felt comfortable speaking it. “Gwen Stacy, nice to meet you.”

“Right! Sorry. It’s nice to meet you too, Harry. You've gotten a lot skinnier. Your father would be worried. I thought you liked smoked salmon best.”

Harry paused for a moment, all of a sudden feeling very uncomfortable. His secret love for smoked salmon was something that Harry himself had almost forgotten, pushed away with the rest of his memories in New York.

Peter blanched. “Gwen. Don’t.”

“My father?” Harry asked slowly. “I really doubt it. And I don’t think we've met before.”

Gwen said casually: “Sorry, sorry again! God, I’m losing it. Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker. It’s just after drifting with Peter for a few years, I've seen a lot of his childhood, so I might know a bit about you, memory transference and all that jazz.”

Harry felt the ice beneath his feet break.

“Drifting?” He croaked out, voice suddenly raw. “You’re Jaeger pilots?”

Gwen nodded vigorously at the same time Peter’s head dropped into his hands, groaning.

She side-eyed them both, brows turning upwards.

“Did I just reveal something I wasn't supposed to?”

There was a minute long silence, where Harry stared at the back of Peter’s head and Peter made a loud sighing noise, and Gwen’s grip on the steering wheel tightened exponentially. She turned to glare at Peter, her lips into a thin line, and he ignored them both.

Harry finally closed his eyes, letting the tension out of his body.

“I’m not angry, Peter.” He said, “Just surprised. You should have told me.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Peter’s voice was muffled, and he sounded upset.

Harry paused again, and asked, “How long have you two been following me?”

He knew and it felt raw and horrible, like he had been betrayed and split open. It was the betrayal of his father, who had hired his childhood friend to watch over him, and the betrayal of his childhood friend, who as it turned out, wasn't really his friend at all. Gwen looked exceptionally apologetic in the mirror, and she turned sympathetic eyes to Harry.

“A little less than a week. I’m sorry, Harry, if I had known that that dumbass Peter over there hadn't told you—”

“You’d what? Continue to not tell me that you work for my father as military intelligence?” Harry snorted. “Right. What do you two pilot, anyway?”

Peter, who had remained silent the entire time, looked up.

“We pilot The Spider.” Peter said quietly.

Harry stilled. Even with his reclusions, he was aware that the only Mark-5 Jaeger in the world, the Spider, was famous for its streak of Kaiju kills and its unknown pilots. Harry was finding it increasingly hard to believe that he was in a car with Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy who were apparently two of the most skilled Jaeger pilots in the world, who were _interestingly enough_ hired by Harry’s own evil father and hot damn. He hadn't signed up for this when he had decided to run off to Yellowstone. He had only wanted to see Old Faithful and maybe snap a few pictures of deer, perhaps take a few hikes, and then head off to the Wall.

“That’s cool.” Harry’s voice burned low, “All I wanted was to see a geyser. I haven’t done anything with my life and you two have, what? Saved the world half a dozen times?”

“That’s not true, Harry.” Gwen argued. “Your life can only go up from here. Believe me. Your father pays us, yeah, but Peter volunteered to get you, okay? And those guys who were after you were part of Oscorp, but they weren't sent by your father. They work for Donald Menken, who wants you out of the picture so that he can take over the company. Norman Osborn knows this.”

“Gwen,” Peter warned, still looking incredibly guilty. “I’m not sure we should, well—”

“He deserves to know.”

“From us?” Peter insisted.

Gwen looked at him, and looked at Harry. Donald Menken had always been a delusional fool, a genuine idiot, and Harry didn't know what possessed his father to keep around half the idiots that he did on the Board.

“Why would Menken want me out of the picture when I was never in the proverbial picture in the first place? Unless my father had died.” And Harry abruptly stopped talking. He felt the shock spread very slowly through his body. He couldn't feel his fingers.

Gwen made another sharp turn, and this time they all shifted to the right.

“Unless your father is dying.” She agreed.

Harry was silent. He had nothing else to say, resigning himself to the ensuing silence for the rest of the trip.

*

 

_“This is BBC news, reporting live. Norman Osborn’s death has left the multi-billion dollar corporation to lone heir and son, Harry Osborn, who has not been seen in New York for over seven years. Recent sources have confirmed that he is in the city, where Kaiju attacks have only grown bolder. The government has not confirmed the recent rumors about the deactivation of the Jaeger program, leaving us all to wonder, what direction will young Osborn Jr. take the company?”_

 

Harry had been in New York City for approximately one day, and Harry’s father had told him, “You’re dying.” Had told him, “Our family curse, the Osborn bloodline.”

Had given him a fucking USB and promptly died, leaving Harry to fend for himself.

Harry had been in New York City for _one fucking day,_ when the Kaiju’s attacked.

After the painfully awkward car ride to New York, where Peter had attempted to apologize profusely at least twenty times, and he really was a genuine sort of person, which had Harry feeling all sorts of guilty, and by the end of the trip Harry had softened up. Of course, none of it had prepared him for his father’s big revelation.

Harry was not ready to die.

Like he had told Gwen, Harry had accomplished nothing with his life. He had experienced nothing, had done nothing, hadn't even loved or lived. Just thinking about how he had wasted his years wanting to live up to his father’s expectations made him feel pathetically desolate. Norman had instead spent all his years conducting research that apparently found no conclusive cure to their genetically inherited disease. And—Harry wasn't ready for it. He was positive no one else knew about it. Not Peter or Gwen, and he had fired Menken the moment he got back (if Menken had only waited, Harry probably would have died on his own, and he wanted to laugh at the bitter irony), with testimonies from all of them that he was conspiring against the company. Menken was in jail, which was the only good news.

Meanwhile, Kaiju’s were monstrous in real life.

Harry couldn’t have imagined it while he was in Omaha, which he surprisingly actually _missed_ (including but not limited to: the Henry Doorly Zoo and all the historically preserved landmarks). He had been getting situated in the Oscorp tower, when he had heard the giant roar of something beastly, before vividly witnessing both the advent of the Kaiju and the subsequent destruction of a few skyscrapers, after the thing ripped apart the Wall (which looked tiny in comparison). It had crumpled like a piece of paper.

And then, the Spider. That was a whole other experience. It was beautiful and sleek, colored red and blue over the taut metal, and the fact that it was Gwen and _Peter_ who were piloting it made Harry feel—admiration, and jealousy. He wanted to _do_ something. He was the head of one of the largest corporate moguls in the world, but he was no Tony Stark (whose building had seen a close call with the Kaiju as well), and the impending ticking clock of Harry’s life just made him all the more hopeless. He knew he had to see what his father had left him, but the reluctance he felt held him back every time.

He was in New York City for three weeks before he finally looks.

It’s his father, and Peter’s father.

They had been doing cross-genetics research, specifically into spiders, the potential behind the research could save his life. Harry felt a slimy, worming desperation that threatened to tear him apart—he wanted to survive more than anything, a selfish and basic human instinct, to want to live. He was going to die anyway, and he had nothing to lose.

Harry dug deeper, accessed the most protected files, and he found hundreds of experiments… including human ones.

It was the most morally inhumane thing he has ever seen. There were invasive videos of people screaming, flesh mutating into something else, animals tortured and killed, and Harry hated himself because despite the revulsion, the wrongness of what he saw, he wanted to know if any of the experiments had been effective.

He also doesn't know how he would even obtain spider venom, and according to all the Special Projects, none had been successful, at least on documentation. Even Electro, who had shown the most promise, had mutated beyond human features, and Harry still wanted to retain his humanity.

Peter constantly visits him, and his presence becomes a normal occurrence. Harry’s lips quirked upwards every time he saw him, and he feels his heart tug unapologetically. Harry hated the vulnerability, the possibility that Peter could betray him any moment. He wanted to stop their friendship before it was too late to jump ship, but Peter turned around and smiled at him. He put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, teased him playfully, _smiled_.

Harry can’t. He hates it. He hates Peter.

The shaking in his hand was no longer intermittent, it was an unstoppable force now, small but consistent, and the side of his neck had developed into a rough patch, a greenish scaled area, which contrasted especially against Harry’s pale skin. He spent hours scratching at it, and it spread another inch. He stopped scratching.

Harry stayed for months at Oscorp, funneling funds into biological research and investing in the Yaeger program—a program that he had always believed was hopeless just a few months prior, and now was the main investor in. The entire situation had Peter’s name plastered all over it, because Harry wasn't a cheap friend, and he didn't do things halfway. And Harry worried, because he couldn't afford to get attached, not when he was not going to be there for long, when the indelibly tight feeling in his chest every time Peter brushes against his wrist made his throat dry. 

It worried at him, plagued him. Harry did nothing. 

*

The problem was that Harry has already gotten attached. Peter drags him to meet Gwen in the laboratory, and Harry gives her free rein to work on research, because Peter loves her and she really does treat people well. But.

Gwen Stacy is so wickedly intelligent that it sometimes makes Harry want to cry.

She easily takes command over research projects at Oscorp, creatively solving problems and making effective studies in biological research that make Harry want to hire her for forever.

It’s like a chain. Gwen is smarter than Peter is smarter than Harry. And Harry is smarter than most of the human population, which makes Gwen like, the supreme version of an Evil Scientist, but without being evil at all. She’s—beautiful. Harry had rarely gone for blondes despite the fact that he was blond himself, but Gwen Stacy was smart on her feet and a superb pilot. Her combat skills were formidable, and any fights broadcasted of the Spider were indicative of her skill.

Most importantly, Peter worshipped her.

“We’re drift-compatible, and she’s very light on her feet, she really knows how to deal with me. I always win in straight hand-to-hand though. I’d hate to hurt her.” Peter had said once, and Harry smiled, biting back the bitter grimace.

It burned Harry to think about how much Peter adored her. He doted on her every move, cared about her, gave her kisses on the forehead and on the cheek, and it made Harry feel like the epitome of The Third Wheel. He would characterize the sensation as a positively awful burning in his chest, a tight feeling that he was impossible to remove.

Harry has spent years in the shadow of his father, and he sure as hell wasn't ready to be second best in this.

Thankfully, they didn't spend all their time together, or at least when Peter came to visit Harry. And Gwen was quite generous when it came to Peter. In fact, sometimes Harry got the vibe that she purposefully tried to avoid him. It was rather offensive, and Harry _liked_ her but he was also jealous, and Peter was either willfully oblivious or a genuine idiot.

Except he was a genius, which meant that Peter was probably dating Gwen, and Harry needed to get himself out of the entire situation as fast as possible. Harry liked things simple and uncomplicated.

It was ironic how he got himself into the most complicated situations to ever exist.

He doesn’t stop hanging out with Peter, the tension between them mounting tenuously. He doesn’t mention anything to Gwen, and doesn't mention Gwen to Peter. Harry continues.

*

_ColumnPost #736_

_OnzGirl2023: Have you guys heard? Harry Osborn has been hanging around some tall sweetie all the time these past few weeks. He’s so hot._

_Iamnothere: rrly? Dood that’s like srsly hardcore. Weren’t they at the jaeger academy._

_OnzGirl2023: Yea they were. Since the gov stopped funding the program Oscorp has been helping fund half of it, we don’t know where they get the rest of the money, it’s probably illegal. The Kaiju’s are getting crazier. I LOVE THE PILOTS_

_Iamnothere: im glad harry gives them money bc I love the Spider and esp all the Avnegers, and Magneto got an upgrade to hs jaeger like FINLLY jesus._

Things fall apart when Peter takes Harry to Jaeger Academy, where there are new and old recruits flourishing and practicing their piloting skill. The entire place has an industrial mechanized feeling, unlike the high-technological suave of Oscorp, and Harry sees international idols casually pass them, patting Peter on the shoulder and asking him where Gwen is. A few people stare at them curiously, and Harry is thankful that he has kept his sunglasses and scarf on. They pass by a large open metal door, where people are fighting, noticeably working on honing their martial arts skills. It's complicated and art-like, and Harry almost doesn't want to look away.

“That’s the Kwoon Combat Room, where our Fightmaster teaches us martial arts, how to mobilize ourselves, that sort of thing. Pretty basic in the beginning, but Gwen got a really crazy Fightmaster, he really beat her up.”

“How is she now?” Harry inquired curiously.

“Amazing.” Peter replied instantly. “She’s great, the best partner I could have ever asked for. She’s helluva lot smarter than me, though.”

Harry scoffed. “You’re a genius, Pete.” He ignored the dull roar of jealousy in his ears.

Peter winked at him. “That, I am.” 

They tour around the Academy, past the Pons Training, and Peter introduces Harry to an Assault Specialist. Harry is complacent and smiles indulgently at Peter every time he whips up in excitement. The entire structure is something that Harry would have loved as an innocent child, but now half his thoughts are occupied by an intense desperation to survive.

It’s too late when he realizes that Peter has led them into an empty corridor.

“Pete.” Harry said flatly. “Where are we?”

Peter raised both hands in the air innocently, stepping forward.

“I just wanted to talk. For real. About us.”

Harry felt like he had swallowed ten tons of acid, and not the trippin’ good kind either. His throat suddenly felt parched and he found himself wondering if he could consume a city’s worth of a water source over having this talk with Peter, thoughts diverting with specificity to another subject, grasping for anything except for the problem in front of him.

“Us.” Harry repeated.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, us, Har. Look at you.”

“Are you referring to the fact that I’m sexy and rich?” Harry tried. It was a weak attempt at a diversion and they both knew it.

“Yeah, there’s that.” Peter conceded, and he reached forward, and took one of Harry’s hands into his.

Harry was struck with the sudden embarrassing feeling that his hands were smaller—delicate, even, as they trembled against his control. He tried to pull his hands back.

“And then there’s this.” Peter sounded pained, suddenly, and Harry wanted to kick him in the balls.

“What the fuck are you doing, Parker.”

“I’m pointing out something that we've both been trying to ignore for a while now.”

And Peter reached over quickly and pulled Harry’s (very expensive and high quality) scarf down. He was too fast to stop and Harry felt naked. He was surging with anger at being exposed in this secret, against his will. It was the basest of a secrecy violation, and Harry hated that Peter had known all along, which meant that Gwen had known all along, and he felt a brief flash of hatred, the same type of hatred that he had felt for his father.

Harry’s fist flew towards Peter and he punched him in the face, the crack reverberating around the room. Harry was also almost certain that Peter let him do it.

“Look, I can deal with my own problems. Don’t try to shit in my business unless you have a solution. And there isn't one.”

“I just want to help, please, Har,” Peter pleaded, his nose blossoming red and the side of cheek beginning to bruise. Harry doesn't feel guilty this time.

“ _You’re_ begging _me_?” Harry choked out a desperate laugh. “ _You’re_ the healthy one. You’re going to live to be normal and not—a freak. You save people. I can’t even save myself.”

“You’re not a freak.” Peter looked impossibly sad. It infuriated Harry and he knew he had to get out of there.

“Unless you have miraculous Spider venom that can supposedly grant someone healing powers and faster reflexes, then don’t mention this to me again.” Harry bit out, and for a second, neither of them moved.

Peter looked as if someone had taken a million dollar vase and smashed it against his head. He appeared suddenly shocked, hesitant, and his mouth opened and closed for a moment before settling on closing it. He looked incredibly guilty, like when they were in the car those few months ago.

“This must be a joke.” Harry let out a laugh edging on hysteria, and he used one hand to clutch at his neck. He walked briskly towards Peter, who edged away and looked cornered. It was a first look for him, and Harry _loves_ it, and he grabs the side of Peter’s face and stares.

The bruise that had been there five minutes ago is gone, the impacted swelling back to normal, with the only remnants of the injury a fading redness.

“Holy shit.” Harry breathes, and he doesn't know how, or why, or _what_ Peter is, but Peter can save him. Peter can _save_ him.

Peter fumbles before settling a hand on Harry’s shoulder, another on his wrist. He opens his mouth to say something, and Harry surges against him to an open-mouthed kiss.

It's spontaneous and impulsive, but Harry doesn't care that he will get rejected, doesn't care that Peter is probably fucking Gwen, because he feels too happy and light-headed. Peter had talked to him because he had a solution. Of course.

Harry pressed wetly against Peter’s lips, fingers tangling in his hair and tongue swiping against his lower lip. Peter’s eyes were closed and he looked like he had eaten something sour, hands flailing, before very gently hovering above Harry’s waist. And then he sucked. Hard.

Peter moved against him with an intensity that Harry would never have expected, and Peter pulls away, gasping, kissing the hollow’s of Harry’s eyes and his eyelashes, the thin, pale skin above his cheekbones, down his ear and to the rough patch of skin, where he pressed a light kiss.

Harry jerked away.

“That’s disgusting, Peter.” He said, grossed out.

“I think it has a sort of cool texture.” Peter smiled against his neck and pressed a chaste kiss against Harry’s forehead. Harry distinctly recalled Peter doing the same exact action to Gwen a few days ago, and he again felt the urge that he  _needed to leave_.

Harry enunciated each word slowly, “I’m dying, Pete. If you really do have spider genes, or whatever, I need your blood. Please. _Please._ I am literally standing here, _begging_ you to help me.”

Peter looked like the world has fallen apart beneath feet.

“My…blood.” He said hesitantly. “Harry, don’t get angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You will be.” And Peter sounded so sure of himself that Harry wanted to punch him again.

“Only if you say no.”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that the original Spider formulaic structure wasn't just for enhanced healing. It was also for genetic weaponry, and my father had it coded to my genetic structure.”

Harry breathed through his mouth, worrying his lower lip.

“You knew this the entire time?”

“Yeah, I did, but I wasn't trying to hide anything from you, I swear. I didn't want to hurt you, and the purified form of my blood or the venom would mutate you into something non-human, or kill you. I can’t let that happen.”

Harry closed his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“Can’t you—undo what your father had done, with the spiders?”

And Peter hesitated for a second too long. Harry’s lips curled, and his eyes slid open. Peter stood there, looking extremely distressed.

“ _Yes_ , but I _can’t_ , I’m sorry—it would involve human experimentation, and I really _do_ want to help you, but Gwen already—she knows that we—”

And Harry had been waiting for it the entire time, of course, _Gwen_.

Harry had never been able to tolerate being second-best, and he was being discarded again in favor of someone else. His father had valued his research more than he valued his own son—research that had been unfruitful in the end, and Harry was so done, so done. The jealousy erupted in his chest, glass shards that splintered in every direction, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if his face began cracking like web work. It was worse because he knew Peter _cared_ , he just didn't care _enough,_ which was a thousand times worse.

“I can’t, I really just can’t.” Harry said, striding out the door and down the hallway, and Peter ran after him. The tightness didn't fade even as his proximity to Peter decreased.

“Harry! Please— where’re you going?”

“You’re really a piece of work, Parker.” Harry yelled, and listened as the sound carried over down the hall. He turned and left, shot one last look behind him before rushing into a crowd and disappearing. 

*

Peter felt like someone had used a sledgehammer to bash his chest in multiple times. Harry was quick to disappear among the crowd, and Peter breathed deeply. Harry was wrong—so wrong about everything and he hadn't even given Peter the chance to explain anything.

Harry was deceptively pretty, with too pale skin and frighteningly clear blue eyes that were framed by long-ass eyelashes and taut skin. Every part of him was slender and angular, but when he opened his mouth, he became more acidic than a flying Kaiju’s spit (though Harry was far more attractive). It was a little terrifying, but Peter had noticed the scratches on Harry’s neck, the skin discoloration and the slight trembling in his right hand, and Peter was worried.

Harry Osborn was not delicate per say, rather than exceptionally edgy and stringy.

He had a supremely desperate, intense quality to him, a sort of elegance that was purely raw. Peter liked that side of him, admired Harry as a person. He liked the sarcastic arrogant side as well, and really Peter just enjoyed being around Harry all the time. He loved Gwen, but Harry had grown back into him like a fungus, albeit a much appreciated and attractive fungus that was wholeheartedly accepted by Peter.

And the idea that Harry could _die_ without Peter doing everything in his power to help was distressing. He hated that Harry was angry at him, and avoiding him.

The kiss was even worse—just thinking about it made a comfortable warmth spread through his body. God, Peter was an idiot. 

“Step on it, Parker, Kaiju, Class 5, detected.” Natasha said, rapping her knuckles against Peter’s shoulder as she brushed past. “Where’s Stacy?”

“Not sure.” Peter muttered, following her briskly and swallowing down any feelings of residual distress. “She’ll show up sooner or later.”

Natasha paused, turning her head to stare at him incredulously.

“Usually you follow her around like a lost dog. It’s like she’s your only friend or something.”

Peter glowered at her. Natasha Romanoff was an excellent pilot, along with Clint Barton. They were well known for their individual attack moves despite the fact that they drifted together, somehow managing to stay in sync without emulating traditional attack styles. It had irritated Peter for years that their Jaeger was a species of Spider.

“Speaking of which,” She mused, “where’s that acquaintance you were showing around? He looked spiffy.”

“Never use that word again.” Peter advised, and he narrowed his eyes at her, before looking away and walking forward. “He’s my best friend. And he left.”

“Good for him.” Natasha smirked at him, and shrugged, her hair brushing against her shoulders. “Good luck, Parker. Don’t die out there.”

And as Peter walked forward, he called out to Natasha behind him,

“I won’t. I’ve still got to find Harry after we kill that Kaiju, after all.”

Natasha blinked. “Who’s Harry?”

*

Harry was at Europe.

He had escaped to one of his father’s former estates in the Czech Republic, the residence luxurious and pastoral, perfect for his unbalanced state. His life was really falling apart, and there was nothing he could do to counter it. He was done with Peter—friendships were unstable, the city was unsafe. He left Felicia briefly in charge of Oscorp, and ordered her to keep all communications away from him. It would be practically impossible to find him.

He had no technology except for his phone, which had awful signal out there anyway, and he _knew_ that the Jaegers were coming out at an alarming rate, which meant that Peter and Gwen were piloting together and they were probably in danger. It had been a week and he couldn't afford to care.

Half his back had been taken over by the disease—when his father had been twenty-eight, it had still not spread to either his hands or his face, so Harry was safe. For now.

He leaned back, enjoying the breeze brush against his cheek.

He wanted to forget about everything and he actually _missed_ the ignorance of his youth in Omaha, when the worst thing had been being stuck surrounded by babysitters, and he had not known about the illness that followed him, his father’s death, of Peter and Gwen.

He fell asleep at the exact same time his phone rang, and Harry was so drowsy that he picked up against his better judgment.

“Hello?”

“Harry? Harry, listen—” Peter said, and Harry hung up so rapidly that he tilted forward a little, blinking quickly and steadying himself with his arm, breathing shakily.

Harry knows that he can’t escape forever, that he has to go back and face everyone. That the world is probably going to end sooner than his life is. He should go back, talk to Peter, accept that they aren’t going to go anywhere. Harry should apologize.

But, for that moment, he sits back, and sleeps.

*

_“Kaiju cells have remarkable regenerative qualities. The entire species is a cloned reproduction, with evolutionary increases compatible with our technological increases. Intelligence has shown that the Masters genetically engineer them to conquer earth. It’s horrifying. It’s amazing.”_

_Unpublished Scientific Journal, Hermann Gottlieb, 2019_

 

They consult Harry about it the moment he gets back. The Program is going to close the Rift, and they need his approval for it. Harry pauses, and tells the Board that they need to wait on his decision. He changes into civilian clothes, gets into the most inconspicuous car he owns, and hitches a ride to Jaeger Academy. Peter’s apartment is rarely inhabited—he devoted his life to helping the people, so Harry is almost certain that he isn’t there. Harry’s grip on the wheel is unusually tight. If there was anyone stupid enough to volunteer for a suicidal plan like going into an interdimensional portal to stop the Alien Master’s from subjugating the human race, Peter would be it.

Harry slides into an elevator and takes the drop down, hands more jittery than usual.

“Hey.” Gwen says nonchalantly, and Harry almost trips over himself in surprise. She is standing right behind him, still in piloting gear, casually tapping her armored fingers against the suit. She looks _really_ good, despite the matted hair and the dark under eye circles, and Harry hates himself for thinking it. No wonder Parker is all over her, and he had hoped he was over Peter, but he keeps worming his way into Harry’s thoughts, like a leech or something. It was becoming very irritating.

“It’s nice to see you again, Gwen Stacy.” Harry enunciates slowly. Every word is calculated, held back.

“You haven’t talked to Peter in a while.”

Harry intelligently produces shocked silence. Gwen is sharp and direct, her stare accusatory, lips thin. She continues speaking, ignoring him.

“That kiss wasn't meaningless, Osborn, you can’t keep running from him—”

“Did Peter actually tell you about that?” Harry bursts out.

“No, he _didn’t_ and believe me he’d hide this stuff from me if he could.”

And suddenly Harry realizes that perhaps when Peter and Gwen pilot, the drifting really reveals _everything_.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Gwen’s voice goes up another octave. “You two aren’t the only one’s suffering. I’m suffering _second-hand_ through Peter’s memories, you’re all he thinks about every time we drift, it’s driving me nuts, and I seriously can’t stand thinking about your kissable lips every time we pilot because the emotion-transference is ridiculous and just—please. He loves you. Please stop ignoring him. I can’t take it anymore. I’m going crazy. I am crazy.”

Harry swallowed twice, left hand gripping the rail of the elevator.

“Gwen, I—” Harry’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “You aren’t dating Peter?”

Gwen blinked, and said very loudly, “ _No_.” Before pausing, “Jesus, Osborn, is _that_ what you’ve been thinking this entire time? God, no. We’re not dating. We tried in high school but it never worked out, with my father and a lot of other stuff, and just, wow.”

She looked like she wanted to smack him. Harry also wanted to smack himself.

“I always thought, um.” Harry managed with difficulty. “He loves me?”

“We take a very intimate delve into each other’s thoughts and emotions every time we drift. Believe me, he worries about you constantly. Peter has been very emotionally distraught lately.”

“When Peter said that he wouldn’t help me because of you, he meant…”

“Are you an idiot?” Gwen reiterated, “There’s no way I’d agree to human genetic experimentation. Not because he was romantically _loyal_ —God, the only person he’s romantically _loyal_ to is you.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“How is he?” Harry finally managed.

“He’s coping.”

“I didn’t know.” Harry said, leaning against the elevator. It had reached their destination already. No one had gotten on, and he pressed the button for the highest floor.  “For what it’s worth, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

Gwen stared at him incredulously.

“Didn’t matter? Are you joking? That kiss was pretty intense, Mr.It-doesn’t-matter.”

Harry pauses, says, “I’m going to die.” It’s an admission, and Harry feels vulnerable and exposed. He wanted to protect himself above all else, but it was too late for him already.

And Gwen looked at him, her gaze softening.

“I know.”

There were no more words between them. The emptiness in the air spoke for itself. Gwen pressed a button for the main floor, her perfectly pink index finger stilling against the floor number, arm outstretched. When the doors opened, she nimbly grabbed Harry’s arm as he turned to leave. Gwen was calm, resolute. Harry felt a surge of envy at her unfaltering demeanor.

“Peter’s in the recovery room. He broke his arm and his ribs while piloting a yesterday. He couldn't focus while were in combat.”

“What do you want me to?” Harry’s voice cracked. He sounded broken, weak.

She pursed her lips, probably taking pity on him (and he hated it). “This is more than all of us, Harry; Peter could save us. Let him down gently.”

Then she pushed him out of the elevator, and he was terrified for the first time in his life. The hallway was empty and he felt as if he were being ushered into a dark room, empty and soulless, like when his father had called him to his shadowed bed, had sat Harry down and told him that they were both destined to die early and mutated.

Harry’s father had never given him the closure he needed. He shut his eyes, squeezing them shut and fists clenching. He couldn't do that to Peter—needed to give him the closure that Norman Osborn had never given Harry. Harry _owed_ it to him.

So he took a step forward, two steps, and turned right.

Peter was lying against a cot, skin sallow. Other than that, he was in perfect condition, no arms broken or ribs ruptured. It must have been the healing, and he was breathing shallowly. Harry stepped closer, being as silent as possible. It was the paranoid fear that he would wake Peter before he was ready to talk to him, even though he would never be ready.

Harry reached over with one hand, fluttering over Peter’s face, unsure of what to do.

Peter’s eyes snapped open. He jerked up and gaped at Harry, rasping.

Harry almost jumped out of skin. He gave Peter a twisted, wry smile.

“Glad to see me?”

“You have ridiculously blue eyes.” Peter murmured, “Really glad.”

Harry pulled a tray over, raised a pitcher of water and poured Peter a glass, raising it to his lips. Peter sipped it, eyes never leaving Harry’s. His hand tentatively rose, cupping the hand that Harry was using to hold the cup.

Harry sighed. Loudly.

“Look, Peter, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Peter’s eyebrows were raised in confusion.

“For this.” Harry muttered, gesturing to Peter’s entire body and grimacing at the lack of wounds, “And for bailing on you without listening. You’re a pretty shitty explainer, though.”

“Must be the fact that I’m still a little egocentric, never grew past my toddler stage, according to Piaget.”

“So that’s why you walk like you’re physically impaired. Your body is trying to compensate for your brain.”

Peter smiled, and Harry felt like he was flying. Ridiculous.

“At least I don’t need four bodyguards to tell me what two plus two is.”

Harry snorted, hands in his pockets as he kicked at a chair.

“Well, bodyguards can’t rescue me from my imminent death, so.”  Peter looked like Harry had shot him with a pistol.

“Don’t joke about that, please.” He grabbed onto Harry’s hand. “Just let me help. You and Gwen are the most important people in my life, I can’t lose you, _please_.”

Harry resented him, in that moment. He had wanted to follow Gwen’s advice, to let Peter down gently. To tell him that they couldn’t make it, that Harry’s life was so very tenuous and fragile, that Peter’s life was even _more_ so. They were a web work of connections—a single crack could destroy any one of them. It was dangerous, and Harry hated danger. He wanted to live a life of simplicity, to be normal for once in his fucking life.

“Why didn’t I treat everything like it was the last time? My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.” Peter whispered. Their foreheads were touching, and Harry could feel Peter’s breath go down his neck.

“Jonathan Safran Foer?” Harry asked, laughing in recognition. “Really?”

Peter cleared his throat, appearing mildly embarrassed. “Yes, really. I know you’re a fan of Vonnegut and Murakami, and Foer.”

“I suppose I am.” Harry breathed, pleased. The tip of his nose brushed against Peter’s, and Peter closed the distance, pressing a soft, close-mouthed kiss against his lips. It was sincere and chaste, lacking the desperate passion that they had had last time.

“I hate talking about this, but I almost lost Gwen last year. It was on our second Jaeger deployment, and I lost control somehow. The neural overload put her in the hospital for a week, and I’ve been like a hovering mom ever since. She hates it, I know, but I can’t help it. I've been honest with her ever since.”

Harry kissed him again, tongue swiping against the bottom of Peter's lip, too briefly, before separating.

“Oh,” Harry said. “I left because—I thought that you and Gwen were together.”

There was a heavy moment where Peter simply stared at him. 

“ _Wow_ , seriously?” He burst out. "That's pretty funny, because I'm more into this," Peter brushed a possessive hand over Harry's bangs, "And this," He cupped a hand around Harry's cheek. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“That’s what Gwen said.” Harry grinned, and buried his head into Peter’s shoulder, voice muffled. “Convince me that I should take a risk concerning you and me.”

Peter lifted his head, and his eyes hardened.

“We could die, tomorrow, or today. No one knows what the future is going to be like. We might never find a cure for you, or maybe Gwen and I could discover something in the next year. What I _do_ know is that what we have, _this_ ,” He gestured to the space between them, “is real. No regrets—yeah? I love you.”

Harry’s mouth was incredibly dry, and his chest felt so tight that he thought it was going to explode.

“Peter Parker, I guess when it comes down to it, you’re _okay_ at getting your point across.”

“I had a lot of time on my hands.” Peter said wryly, and he tangled his fingers with Harry’s, gently.

 _I hate him_ , Harry thought, _He loves me_.

Peter Parker was too kind for his own good, cared too much about those he considered close to him. He was genetically enhanced by weird-ass spider genes and he was a pilot of the Jaeger (ironically) called the Spider. He was really fucking smart and he enjoyed chemistry and biology, and disliked physics even though he was wonderful at it, and he loved children and used to date Gwen. Peter’s eyes crinkled up when he smiled, he had one of the best asses in the world, and he liked Strawberry Ice Cream. These were all things that Harry inherently  _knew_ about Peter, and he was conflicted. Harry had never wanted to get involved, and found himself desperate not only to live, but to know more about Peter, to discover everything there was to know about him.  _  
_

Harry found himself taking a tentative step forward, into the unknown. He didn't trust the future. He never had.

But he wasn't his father, did not want to waste his life away neglecting those he cared about.

Harry went forward, hands intertwined with Peter's, and didn't look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the somewhat inconclusive ending??? I am so tired and this fic murdered me. Hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> What happens after: Peter and Gwen and the Jaeger team successfully close the Rift, stopping the age of the Kaiju. They become internationally celebrated heroes. The genetic sequence of the Kaiju is used to cure Harry. Gwen dies in an alley shooting five years later, and Peter cries his heart out. Harry is there for him. Oscorp stops all human experimentation and helps Stark industries expand in clean energy. They live to be old losers. The end.


End file.
